


The Death of Dorian Havilliard

by PropShopHannah



Series: Throne of Glass prompts and asks [8]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut, delectable dorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PropShopHannah/pseuds/PropShopHannah
Summary: “Anon (to Itach-i): What if you continue the drabble “I thought we had decided not to fall in love” and Dorian dies and Manon has all this regret… I love pain.”Yesterday @itach-i posted this fic (http://itach-i.tumblr.com/post/152270573378)! And then got the above ask in her inbox. We started talking about how this ask would go down, and I decided that she should give it to me because NO BODY kills Dorian Havilliard/I can turn anything into shameless smut!So I wrote this mini fic a few minutes ago. It starts right where her’s ends! ENJOY





	

Three days later, a messenger came from the west end of the war front. Dorian Havilliard was dead.

Manon had just stood there in shock. She’d asked the messenger to repeat the message three times before the tears came. There would be a funeral in two days time. The messenger asked that she bring Abraxos. Said that the King’s Hand had requested it as part of what was written in Dorian’s will.

She’d nodded and said, “Of course.”

***

She’d stood in the back of the grand Cathedral. Everyone was there. They’d all offered her their condolences. None of them knew she’d broken his heart just a few days before. He hadn’t told anyone.

Guilt sat in her stomach like tar. How could she have been so cruel? How could she have treated him like that. She hadn’t meant it. She’d only wanted too…only wanted…

The last of the guests filed out of the room, and Manon found herself alone with the love of her life.

No– _not_ the love of her life. He was gone. What was left in that open coffin–just a shell of the man. The man she’d loved. The man who’d kissed her gently on cold nights, the man who’d laid awake with her when the nightmares got too bad, the man…the man she’d shunned and scorned because he’d admitted what she was too scared to admit.

He knew everything about her. Her mind, her body, and she’d… and she’d just told him to leave. Like he was nothing. Like he meant nothing to her.

Her heart broke.

Tears streamed down her face as she found herself in front of his coffin. The whole room smelt overwhelmingly like flowers and despair. She’d wished she could smell him one last time. Not the body they’d washed and perfumed, but him. The real him. But he was gone. He looked as beautiful as he always had. His blue-black hair was laid messily across his forehead, his beautiful, full lips were just touching. His thick, full eyelashes laid closed over those beautiful sapphire eyes she loved so much.

 _I’m sorry,_ she thought. _I’m so sorry._

She reached out to couch his cheek, and her knees gave out on her. She collapsed beside his coffin, hand over her mouth, unable to touch his face. She couldn’t. Not like this. She didn’t want to remember him like this.

“Forgive me,” she whispered through her tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She wasn’t sure how long she’d cried. All she knew was that someone had walked up and was standing beside her, looking down on the fallen king.

“Did you know him?” said the man beside her.

She nodded.

“Did you love him?”

Manon wasn’t sure why she bothered answering the stranger. “Yes,” she said, nodding. And the admission flooded her with more tears than she cared to share with anyone. She gathered her dress–a beautiful black one Dorian had bought her–and began to stand.

“Tis a pity,” said the stranger, in a slightly more familiar voice, “to see such a beautiful woman cry. But I guess it’s not everyday we lose a king so _devastatingly_ handsome.”

She angered. How dare this man joke the fallen king, her fallen king. She whirled on the stranger, iron claws poised to strike–only to be caught by an invisible hand.

“That wouldn’t be very nice, now would it,” said Dorian Havilliard.

She froze. Stared. Impossible.

She looked between the Dorian in front of her and the Dorian in the casket. She looked back at the smirking, breathing, very much alive Dorian in front of her, then back again at the one in the casket and–and the one in the casket was laughing.

Laughing with the voice of a woman, of–Lysandra.

In half a second, Manon Blackbeak figured out what was happening. In half a second more, she’d decided how she would retaliate.

She retracted her claws and let the tears of relief flood her face. She dropped her chin to her chest and let her knees give way beneath her. Dorian didn’t let her fall. First with his magic, then with his real hands he caught her and held her too him.

“Shhh. Shhhh,” he cooed. “It’s all right. I’m right here. I’m sorry. Hey, look at me? I’m sorry.” She wailed a few second longer, letting him soak in his own guilt, while she threw her arms around his neck, while Lysandra–and Aelin and Chaol–stopped their laughing because they, too, felt guilty for their hand in this charade.

Then she struck.

She sunk her iron teeth into his shoulder before he knew what hit him. He cried out. She pushed him away before his magic could react and broke his nose. He’d live.

“HOW DARE YOU,” she said. “HOW _DARE_ YOU.” She stood over him, hands on her hips. He spit out blood.

“Miss me?” he said through a wicked, bloody grin.

“Miss you? DID I MISS YOU?” she kicked his shin. Not hard enough to break it, but hard enough that he’d be limping for at least a day. “Get up.”

“Ow, ow, okay. Okay,” he said. He stood. Still grinning like an idiot.

“Dorian Havilliard, I’m going to kill you.” She lunged. He opened his arms and let her tackle him to the floor.

“Admit it,” he said, westling with her and only using his magic to even the fight–not to stop her from pummeling him. “You love me.”

“You have a lot of nerve,” she said, ripping open the stupid fancy tunic he wore and simultaneously trying to knee him in the groin. He blocked her.

“I have the nerve?” he said. “As I recall, you’re the one who threw me out. Why else would you be here?”

“FINE,” she said, and he rolled on top of her in an attempt to pin her down. “I do love you. You know what, fine. You’re right. I love you so gods-damned much I freaked and threw you out because I was scared. Happy?” She wrapped her legs around his waist hard enough to impinge his ability to breath.

“I KNEW IT” he said triumphantly, using his magic to unwrap her legs from around him. “I know you better than you know yourself.” He climbed on her back–preventing her from crawling away. He tried to grab her hands as he said, “You think you’re so misunderst– _OOF_ ”

She elbowed him in the ribs and crawled out from under him, flipping onto her back. She was panting and flushed, and a mess. Her hair was wrecked, her shoes were gone, one of the straps of her dress was ripped clean off–threatening to expose one of her breasts.

He didn’t look much better. His tunic was shredded, One of his sleeves was missing, his face was bruised. His nose bled everywhere.

She licked his blood off her bottom lip–an action that did not go unnoticed by Dorian.

His eyes roved over her fully exposed right leg. The once classy slit in the dress had been ripped clean up to her waist–she wasn’t wearing underwear. _Ravishing._ The word he was looking for was ravishing.

“Are you happy with yourself? Did you get what you wanted?” she said. He watched her breathing change when she saw his eyes roll over her body.

“No,” he said, “I didn’t.” He reached for her right ankle and slid her to him across the marble floor. He claimed her mouth in a savage, brutal kiss at the exact same time that she slipped her arms around his neck and wrapped that beautifully bare right leg around his waist.

From across the room, Chaol Westfall began backing away. The last thing he saw was Dorian flip open Manon’s dress, exposing her left leg– _and oh she wasn’t wearing underwear_ –her hands flew to the king’s belt, and Chaol couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. Aelin and Lysandra seemed to feel the same way.

Once the three were out of the room, Aelin said, “That escalated really quickly didn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Chaol.

“Yes. Yes, it did,” said Lysandra at the same time.

Aelin considered the scene for a moment. She looked at Lysandra. “At least now we know the carpet matches the drapes,” she said.

“I know,” said Lysandra, “I hadn’t expected that. All white, who knew?”

Chaol really needed to get more guy friends.

 

[END]

**Author's Note:**

> I'm PropShopHannah on tumblr


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